Beyond stealthily trying her door and finding it fastened on the inside, he had never shown any disposition to invade her room.
To-night was as all other nights when he came and made that mysterious search, until he went into the little bedroom where slept Hepsibah Atwood.

Jean listened to the faint creaking of old boards which told her that he was approaching Hepsy's room, and she wondered if Hepsy would hear him.

Hepsy did hear him.

There was a squeak of the old bedstead that told how a hundred and seventy-two pounds of indignant womanhood was rising to do battle.
"Who's that?
Git outa here, or I'll smash you!" There was no fear but a great deal of determination in Hepsy's voice, and there was the sound of her bare feet spatting on the floor.
The man's footsteps retreated hurriedly.

Jean heard the kitchen door open and slam shut with a shrill squeal of its rusty hinges, and the sound of a man running down the path.